Mr Magio's Emporium
by mentalillusions
Summary: Based off of the prompt "Thomas's wardrobe is riddled with woodworm so he buys a beautiful new one from a mysterious store in York. That night he starts hearing a strange scratching and he's sure it's coming from inside the wardrobe…" from irrationalgame's Halloween prompt list
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Based off of the prompt "Thomas's wardrobe is riddled with woodworm so he buys a beautiful new one from a mysterious store in York. That night he starts hearing a strange scratching and he's sure it's coming from inside the wardrobe…" from irrationalgame's Halloween prompt list

(sorry if someone's already written something for this prompt xox)

(also it has a more playful nature rather than scary or spooky but hey ho)

* * *

Tall and proud, strange and foreign, the new cupboard stood firmly against Thomas' bedroom wall, inhabiting the place where the old one once stood. It had taken years of his wardrobe slowly getting eaten away by starved woodworm-who had nothing better to do with their time apart from munch on his belongings-before the door decided it had quite frankly had enough, and broke clean off, crumbing upon the floor sadly.

It was only fair that they pay for a new one. After all, it was a necessity; he couldn't just leave his precious clothes on the floor or draped over the back of chairs. That simply wasn't good enough.

'But surely you don't want my uniform to get rumpled, Mr Carson!' he had argued to the aging butler who merely furrowed his eyebrows in response, before huffing a sigh.

'I suppose I can give you the money for it to be replaced,' he'd decided brusquely, before pausing to add in gruff tones, 'but only if you're willing to go out and buy it yourself on your day off, Mr Barrow.' He'd finished, waving him out dismissively.

With money in his pocket-a great deal in fact for a servant-he'd originally intended to go out and buy something in York, maybe from the second hand store, or perhaps the furniture shop if he could find a bargain. However, plans had changed when he turned down a narrow lane he'd never wandered before, moving in a trance like state, as if mesmerised by an unseen force.

And there it had stood: Mr Magio's Emporium. The wooden sign, faded and battered, tapped against the brick wall, urging him in. The whole thing looked very mysterious, with its strange mystic eye painted onto the worn surface, and the title of the shop written in an odd curling font. Part of him said 'no you fool, don't go in' but the rest of his mind was certain that a little mystery never did any harm, so he tampered down the other pesky thoughts and entered though the heavy door.

And there it stood; his new wardrobe, waiting for him in the centre of the room, as if it had been expecting him, practically glowing with delight. (Perhaps it really was glowing? Technology really was quite something these days). He'd never seen anything like it before, with its glossy purple wood, and intricate eye in the centre, complete with flowing swirls, etched deeply into the surface. It was a sight to behold and he knew then and there that he had to own it, even if he had to spend year's worth of pay checks to get it into his possession.

'Ah, young lad' said an old, eccentric man, in Victorian dress, with unsightly whiskers sprouting from all over his face. Thomas thought he was truly horrid and really ought to get a haircut. It just wasn't respectful to go around looking a wreck.

'I see you've found my precious cupboard, Journey.' The elderly gentleman continued, slumping into a rocking chair by the till, as he inspected Thomas who couldn't help but stare, mesmerised by the beautiful wardrobe that was Journey.

'How much?' he had asked, distantly, without even being fully aware of having moved his lips.

The old man had laughed joyously. 'How much? For you-' he said, raising a hand theatrically, 'nothing. I have had my enjoyment now. It's time Journey found a new home, with a younger, more attractive man," the decrepit man wiggled his eyebrows suggestively 'who can have experiences living up to her name.'

The old man, who Thomas assumed was Mr Magio himself, had even offered to deliver it to the abbey, so keen was he that Thomas should own it. Everyone had gawped when it arrived at the back entrance-such a fascinating piece of furniture for a mere servant to own-and Thomas took pride in how their jaws dropped as Mr Magio lifted the cupboard up in one clean sweep and carried it up all five flights of stairs without breaking a single sweat.

If he hadn't been the one experiencing all this, it would have been hard for him to believe the road of events that led him to standing before the glorious, exquisite, wardrobe, Journey.

* * *

Thomas felt embarrassment-though no one could see him-for how fear bubbled in his chest at the odd shadows Journey cast out upon the room. It was almost like being a child again, seeing monsters in every simple outline. But this was different. So much different. There were no items to create the frightening shapes, it was as if the shadows themselves were compressing together to create ghosts which seemed to flit around his bedroom silently, urging him to cry out in fear.

He would not. People already thought that his mind had gone to mush with the loss of Jimmy. He would not prove them right by screaming girlishly, no matter how much he wanted to when one of the shadows approached him like a stranger asking directions before rushing right thought his very being.

'There's nothing there.' He reassured himself, but he was having a hard time listening to his own mind.

Eyes drooping shut, Thomas was nearly in the land of dreams when he heard a scratching which seemed to be coming from Journey. _'Oh God, don't tell me I've got another woodworm invested cupboard!'_ was his first thought as the croaking on his new wardrobe continued and grew louder and louder. He tried to ignore it and thought of the money he had gained from Mr Carson who thought, judging by the quality of the workmanship on beautiful Journey, he had surely spent every penny. He took delight in scamming the old butler out of his money.

He could take no more when Journey's rattling was so intense that she seemed to be rising off the floor, and practically buzzing around the room. He padded over to her on bare feet, and ran a hand along the side of her wood. He didn't know why he did that, it felt almost instinctive, but whatever he did, it must have worked for she settled down and ceased her movements immediately.

Thomas noted, wearily, as he headed back to bed, that she had moved six inches from the wall and was now standing at an angle.

Very peculiar indeed.

* * *

By morning, Journey seemed to be singing to him in a wordless tongue that begged him to come hither.

Come hither, he did not, until he had dressed in his livery that hung motionless and clean over the back of his desk chair. He had intended to put his clothes away as soon as Journey arrived, but, as he observed her from the bed, time seemed to pass in abundance until it was practically time for bed.

He heard feet rushing down the corridor and was about to do the same, as he had found, now that Jimmy was gone, it was no fun lingering on his own. His sorrowful thoughts were so oppressive they seemed to crush his very soul. The only cure was to always be doing something to force the bad feelings away. It was the only solution.

And he would have done so; he would have raced down that corridor to join the others for breakfast, complete with snarky remark, if it wasn't for the way Journey seemed to call for him longingly: _come hither, come hither, come hither…_

A bright glow lit up her insides and shone through the doors making them shake, nervous and unsettled. Against all better judgement, Thomas opened the doors, muttering under his breath 'Jimmy you bastard, you've made me half mad' as the light pulled him in unexpectedly and engulfed his body into its endless chasm of whirling, violet energy.


	2. Chapter 2

Journey rattled malevolently, tossing him around uncontrollably as his body hit the sides of her walls repeatedly. He gripped onto the clothing rail to steady himself as she raced through…wherever she was racing through, he supposed.

_'__What have I gotten myself into?'_ he internally groaned, his stomach queasy from all the shaking about. Suddenly, she stopped and stood shock still, almost as if she had never moved at all.

He opened the doors to reveal an unusual looking bedroom, simultaneously both bare and unextravagant, and yet oddly glamorous, all at the same time, despite its strange, alien nature. The walls were painted white, but unlike his, which were grubby and spoke volumes of social poverty, these were a brilliant white; completely flawless, and utterly beautiful, in an unassuming sort of way. In fact, almost everything in the room was glossy and white; even the bed frame for crying out loud. Here and there were ascents of ocean blue, making the white appear even brighter than it already was.

Journey stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, completely out of place, yet no less beautiful. A ruckus was coming from the other side of the bedroom door which Thomas crept towards hastily, straightening out his uniform on the way.

He opened the lightwood door to reveal a room full of people in an odd style of dress (or perhaps that was just how they normally looked around here?) all dancing, with queer, jolting movements which made them look like they were having some kind of fit.

"Hey man, nice costume! Glad to see it's not just me" Tom Branson yelled, waving a hand around at the rest of the room, who all looked far less peculiar in comparison to what he was wearing. To be honest, Thomas wasn't actually sure _what_ he was wearing. All over his body, with the exception of his neck and hands, was some kind of blue, skin tight, fabric …so, so_ unbelievably_ tight. Thomas didn't know where to look, so he looked no where at all, keeping his eyes just to the side of Branson's head. Thomas was just about to reply with a curt thank you, and a stifled cry of confusion, when Branson, thumped him on the back, and called out "Very Downton Abbey!" as he went past to what must have been the drinks table, if the gathered, drunken, crowd were anything to go by.

_Very Downton Abbey?_ Well, of course he was _'very Downton Abbey'_, he was working there for Christ's sake! His mind was whirling with puzzlement as the sudden urge to have a sit down, or perhaps run out, crying and screaming, burst forth from within him.

The former won out.

Perched awkwardly on an ugly, squidgy, couch -lacking any style or shape- in an even uglier shade of beige, Thomas sat, both regretting his life choices, and feeling subtly thrilled by them.

"Y'alright love?" a man asked -in a voice both familiar and haunting- from behind him, perhaps leaning over the back of the couch, he suspected, going by the sudden, overwhelming sense of presence. He had to turn around. He knew he did, but the problem was, he wasn't sure whether he was desperate for that voice to belong to his blond footman, or if it might just be better to look and see and strangers face staring back at him. Maybe Jimmy's face would just make things worse; how could he ever bear to leave here- _wherever here was_?- if he could have a chance to be near the man he loved again.

He looked.

It was undeniably Jimmy. His hair was slightly longer -or maybe just messier and more unkempt- but somehow he still made it look beautiful, as if it were a style and fashioned to look like that. It probably was, he decided; this place was quite clearly _not home._ He was wearing a casual looking button-down shirt, and trousers of such a strange material he couldn't even begin to fathom what they were (he didn't dare let his eyes linger on the subject of trousers too long). And yes, indeed he was leaning over the back of the chair, his upper arm resting on the edge and his face so close that their noses could have brushed when he turned around. Jimmy seemed to sense this too for he shifted back slightly, but kept his leaning position.

Jimmy stared at him in anticipation and Thomas recalled that it was generally social etiquette to answer when spoken to.

"I'm…"he paused briefly, resisting the urge to tell him everything as if this were _his_ Jimmy; "quite well." he settled on, but his reply sounded false and contrived.

Jimmy laughed, a sweet, soothing sound. "Not the party-goer sort are yer?" he asked, moving around the couch to sit casually next to him, slouching, with one arm draped over the back, burningly close to his personal space.

Thomas forced a tight lipped smile. "I can't say I am, no."

The once-footman smiled jovially. "Who'd you come with then, can't say I know you."

Thomas motioned his hand vaguely. "Oh, y'know, I just came along with…people."

Jimmy snorted. "Did Ivy drag you along?" he leant in conspiratorially. "She's acts like she has such a thing for me, but then she's always bringin' 'round other guys, friends, people she's only just met, you name it, they'll be there by her invite whenever I have a bash. It's like she wants to annoy me!" he murmured quickly, his face so close to his that his breath hit Thomas' cheek.

Jimmy _(Not-Jimmy?)_ frowned suddenly and pulled away. "Not that I'm saying that I'm annoyed you're here!" he said suddenly, his voice hurried and rushed, like Thomas' feelings meant enough for him to check that he hadn't taken offence.

He hadn't, he reassured him.

Jimmy sighed in relief. "That's good; god, I just…worry, y'know? Sometimes people can be _so…_" he waved a vague hand "touchy." he complained, climbing over the edge of the couch and slumping down, crossing his legs out in front of him.

Thomas nodded politely and felt a lull in the conversation and desperately grappled for something else to say. "I like your-" he began, without having decided on how he planned on ending that sentence. _Crotch? Lips? Chest? Muscles?_ He settled on _'shirt'_ and felt relief with how Jimmy's face lit up. Perhaps he had been waiting for someone to say something just so he could talk about it?

"Thanks! I got it in the sale! Eight pounds! A steal! I was well chuffed." He preened.

That seemed to be enough to get the conversation rolling, as the party, which Thomas suspected was already nearing its end, drew to a close. Somehow they had managed to talk about everything and nothing all at the same time. Jimmy told him things which he knew were probably just small talk but seemed like a lot, and he avoided talking about himself with flimsy replies and clever diversions. It must have been well over the midnight when the last guest left, which happened to be Tom Branson, slurring his goodbyes, with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, as he staggered out of the door.

"Why was he the only one in costume?" Thomas asked to Jimmy who now sat length ways across the couch, with his back against the arm, and his feet resting by his side.

Jimmy laughed. "You can talk, sitting there dressed as the gay guy from Downton Abbey!" Thomas smiled awkwardly and decided he _really_ needed to find out just what Downton had become in this world. _Gay?_ He couldn't imagine himself being thought of as the happy one…

"Oh well, you know Tom, he's a complete jokester." Jimmy furrowed his brows. "Or perhaps you don't? Anyway, I told him it weren't gonna be a fancy dress party, but he said it had to be 'cause it was Halloween. I'm not surprised really that he turned up as Superman; he has no sense of embarrassment." He said, stretching his legs out across his lap, like a cat unfurling itself from its curled up position.

When Jimmy's bout of giggles had subsided, his voice took on a notably more hesitant tone. "Hey…do you want to…" he stopped and tried again. "I brought this new clock…erh, maybe you'd like to um, see it…in my bedroom?"

"Sure." Thomas replied, his voice equally as hesitant.

The clock was underwhelming. It was quite frankly the plainest thing he'd ever seen, the only notable feature of any excitement was the unusual blue shade in which it had been painted. Other than that –what with all the other things in Jimmy's freakish house- it was hardly the kind of statement piece that you dragged people into rooms for.

"Pretty nice, huh?" Jimmy said, his voice wavering as he lay horizontally across the bed, gazing up at Thomas with his head in his hands.

Thomas -who stood bent over the clock which sat proudly on the bedside table- turned his head and nodded hesitantly. "Yes, I suppose it is." he replied slowly, placing himself gently on the edge of the bed and twisting his neck to look at Jimmy.

"Got a whole shipment of 'em in at the shop. The simplistic styles nice; super minimalistic and fashionable, y'know?"

Thomas didn't know, but he agreed anyway. His brow furrowed momentarily as he said _"shop?"_ in confusion.

Jimmy hummed. "Yeah, I own a shop down in York. M'dad left it to me when he died a few years ago." He replied, looking briefly downcast before brightening up again. "We sell all sorts now." Jimmy conspired. "'pparently my Grandfather once had it when it was purely an antique store, way back in the forties or something; my Dad says some crazy old guy -called Mr Magic-o or whatever- just left it to him! They'd never even met! Can you imagine?" Jimmy grinned excitedly, rolling onto his back and propping his bent legs up on the bed. "Must've been mad living all the way back then, can't even picture such an old-fashioned existence!"

Thomas' mouth twisted glumly. "I can." He said quietly, too softly for Jimmy to hear, as he looked, for the first time in what felt like forever, at Journey who still stood nobly in the centre of the room.

Jimmy followed his gaze and asked playfully "What're you lookin' at?" unable to see Journey, bold as she was.

Thomas didn't answer.

"Is your shop the one down that alleyway?" he asked curiously.

Jimmy beamed. "Yeah, you been there?"

Thomas bobbed his head. "Many years ago." He lied.

The other man didn't speak for several seconds, seemingly lost in contemplation. "I was wondering…I know we don't know each other all that well, but um…you looking for work?"

The question caught Thomas off-guard. Was he looking for work now that he was in this strange new world, perhaps full of new possibilities, and most importantly, Jimmy?

The blond man continued before he could reply.

"It's just my boyfriend -_the cheating bastard_\- left me a while ago, and we were in it 50/50, and we use to share the work load. I've been looking for a new guy for ages and well-" Thomas could have sworn he saw Jimmy bat his lashes, "I think you're the guy I've been waiting for. How about it? It'd be a great business investment, I promise."

Thomas replied instantly.

"How much do you need?"


	3. Chapter 3

Thomas stood outside Jimmy's door, civvies on and money hidden safely in his pocket. He raised his hand in hesitation, tempting himself to knock, whilst wondering what god he should thank for this unusual development in his life.

* * *

The night before, Jimmy had fallen asleep mid-sentence, with his head in his hands, leaving Thomas free to sneak back into Journey and return home. He still wasn't completely sure how the cupboard worked, but figured it must have been somehow linked to desires, subconscious or otherwise, seeing as he ended up in Future-Jimmy's house the first time, when he could have arrived anywhere.

Crammed inside the cupboard, frozen stiffly into place and breaking out into a nervous sweat, he imagined his bedroom cloaked in darkness at the end of a long day, a time in which everyone else had long since retired to bed, as he shut the doors to Journey firmly, blocking out the sight of Jimmy lying across the bed.

The room he came to was exactly how he'd left it, with his pyjamas draped over the back of a chair, and bed haphazardly made. After quickly jumping into his civvies, he pulled two suitcases out from under the bed, buzzing with the anticipation to fill them with all the valuables in Downton. Just as he was about to turn towards the sealed door, he stopped, and changed his mind at the last minute, allowing a smarter tactic to blossom. _In theory, _Thomas hesitated wonderingly, suitcases gripped firmly in hand, _I could just hop back into Journey and have her take me to each of the rooms I want to go in._

Years of servitude had taught him how to sneak around rooms, like a ghost drifting through a haunted house; there but barely noticed. Thomas had taken anything that was small and easy to stuff inside the case. He would've liked to have cleared out entire rooms, stealing every single piece of furniture so that a real loss was felt, but the logical part of his mind had argued _no,_ that just wasn't possible.

In the end, Thomas stole from ten rooms in total, everything from the best silverware, to Cora's finest Jewellery.

"This is quite the collection!" an old antique dealer said, standing behind the counter of a shop down York highstreet.

Thomas smiled curtly, his prepared lie blossoming sweetly on his tongue. "Yes my Great Grandmother died recently, and I need to clear out some of the things from her house quickly." He said, gazing down at the mass of goods spread out across the table.

The dealer nodded politely, holding up one of the rings to look at through a jewellers eye glass, before placing the item down again and beaming enthusiastically. "I'd be very happy to buy all of it."

"Good" Thomas replied sincerely, meaning the word as fully as humanly possible; to be honest, he'd had his doubts about whether the items would even be accepted at all. Then he paused and asked, carefully, "Can I get the money in cash?"

"No bank account?" the old dealer queried, attempting to appear baffled, but coming off as rather too pleased with himself. "Normally these things are done by wiring the money across to you-but I suppose we could do it cash-in-hand for a more" he'd dropped his voice to a murmur, leaning over the counter slightly _"tax-free profit."_ The dealer finished, clasping his hands on the desk and straightening back up.

"Sounds good." Thomas nodded enthusiastically in response, not fully understanding what the dealer had said to him.

* * *

When evening came around, the dealer sat with him at a pub they had agreed to meet in, hidden away in the corner of the room. The old man hadn't hesitated as he slid a large roll of money over the small, beer stained table, in exchange for the suitcases full of the Abbey's valuables.

"Ten thousand on the nose" the dealer said in hushed tones, briefly opening the case to peer inside, before nodding his head and standing up with a proffered hand.

And when their handshake sealed the deal, Thomas worried that he might just have a heart attack, as he slid the overwhelming amount of money into his jacket pocket, attempting to appear calm. For the first time in an age, he prayed silently in his head, hoping that the man wouldn't come back looking for his money, as he made his way to Jimmy's house.

* * *

"You're back!" Jimmy beamed, beautifully sleepy and hungover, as he stepped back to let Thomas in.

Thomas wasted no time as he slipped the money out his pocket and held it out for Jimmy who closed the door, the latch clicking with a possessive _snap._

The blond man's eyes widened slightly, as he took the bundle gently from Thomas' hand, their fingers brushing along the way, slow and purposeful.

"Great." Jimmy said, but his voice sounded far out and distant as if he were lost in other thoughts and only barely taking in the scene before him. _"Great."_ He repeated again, this time louder, more confident, as he sauntered over to the coffee table, dumping the money down unceremoniously. "Sorry I'm a bit-" he waved a vague hand, bending down to unlatch a briefcase by the wall and pulling out a document. "It's just-I didn't know whether you'd be coming back or whether you maybe just accepted my offer 'cause you were drunk or something."

Plonking himself down on the couch, Jimmy handed the paper to Thomas who sat next to him unflinchingly. His strong resolve melted as Jimmy began to speak more on the sheet he was holding.

"I've got the legal document and everything completed already, all yer have to do is sign it." the former-footman stretched forward to grab a pen from the corner of the table and put the document in front of Thomas. "Everywhere marked X" Jimmy informed, leaning back casually. Thomas's heart began to race; surely he couldn't sign something like this if he technically didn't exist? And something told him that the future –which he must be in, surely?- didn't let things slide so easily to allow people get away with not existing or what have you.

When Thomas handed Jimmy back the document, the other man kept his face very blank for a moment as he flicked through the pages, and then laughed, nervously.

"Y'know…yer supposed to sign your real name on there, not the character you were dressed as last night - you must know that-" Jimmy gasped suddenly. "Oh my god!" Jimmy's face fell into his hands as he shook his head, suddenly mournful. "I don't even know your real name!" Jimmy's voice descended into a muffled murmur "_Jesus,_ _I've been such a fool, so desperate to find another business partner that I'm about to sign a contract with a delusional stranger. What am I doing?"_

"That is my name!" Thomas protested before realising that he could have lied, and really should have. But he couldn't bear to lie to Jimmy. What was the point in living here if he still had to live a lie to exist? He was fed up of pretending.

"Just let me prove it to you!" Thomas pleaded.

Jimmy stormed to his feet and cried out "What is this? Some kind of cruel joke? Did one of Alfred's friends put you up to this?" Jimmy demanded, flying into hysteria, as his face scrunched up in anger, far too much like that awful night of the sleep kiss. "Alfred always did have a bloody awful sense of humour! Well, is this his last hah hah? He was always saying I was vain and manipulative, so he sends you-" Jimmy pointed at him furiously, accusingly, his eyes clouding over with tears, "the most vain and manipulative character he could find…to turn the tables on me" Jimmy's voice broke into a sob, voice deeply hurt and offended "so that I can get a taste of me own medicine and see how it feels to be manipulated and played for a fool-_and just when I thought I had finally found a nice guy."_ he finished in a whimper, as he picked up the roll of money, tears streaming down his cheeks, and lobbed it at him with full force, screaming out "I bet this isn't even real money, you bastard!"

As Jimmy slumped to the ground, crying for the cruelness of humanity and the mistakes he'd made himself, Journey appeared, behind the sofa, whispering anxiously, _take me home…take me home…take me home…_

But this was his home how, and he'd come too far to just turn around and leave. Journey seemed to understand this as she let out a gentle hum that vibrated softly through the room.

Jimmy's eyes grew large as he stared at the majestic cupboard, standing protectively behind him like a warrior by his side. "What-?" he began to say, but Thomas cut him off.

"I'm afraid I haven't been entirely truthful with you Jimmy." He said solemnly, turning around briefly to acknowledge Journey's presence before casting his eyes back to Jimmy. In awe, the once-footman got up and stroked a hand along the length of the purple wood and smiled softly as he spoke again, as if in a daze.

"No, I don't suppose you have."

* * *

_Epilogue_

They spoke of everything and anything under the sun in the years that past together. At first they talked solely of Downton, allowing Thomas to finally reveal his story that he had left locked up in his heart for far too many years. He spoke of his life in ways he never had before. Jimmy in turn nodded, fascinated, and showed him the bizarre show they had made about the Abbey. Thomas wasn't sure why everyone, except him, had been re-invented with a new name, but didn't question it, seeing as his life was now filled with time-travelling wardrobes and futuristic boyfriends. Thomas felt a closeness he had never felt before, not even from the Jimmy back home, and every day he thanked the heavens for letting him have a second chance at life. The feeling of being able to tell someone everything, and hide nothing from the world, was liberating, addictively so, like a drug or the buzz alcohol creates as you approach a drunken state.

They ran the shop together, although Thomas never did sign the papers or become a technically-real person. Journey became their shared secret, the sweetest kind of burden to carry, completely unlike all the bitterness and sorrow that had trailed Thomas for most of his life. On dull, quiet days in the shop, normally in the late afternoon, Thomas would often look up from his newspaper spread out across the front desk, and ask nonchalantly _'where in time do you want to visit today?' _

One time they even went to Downton and stood in the shelter of the stables opposite his bedroom window in the dead of the night. Sharing a kiss, Thomas watched the light in his once-bedroom flicker out and didn't feel guilty at all about forcing Carson to replace him.

Shortly after this, on a rainy Monday morning he remembers distinctly, Jimmy had found an old newspaper hidden in a box of junk, with the headline _'Under-Butler suspected of burglary'_ and they had laughed about the strange course of fate, with cigarettes in hand, cuddled up on Jimmy's ugly sofa, that had slowly deteriorated with age.

When their days of work were over, each evening- until the day Mr Magio's Emporium passed hands- they'd lock up the shop and Thomas would gaze up wonderingly at the redesigned façade, styled to look like it had the first time he'd seen it. It was strange the way things worked out; how if the woodworm had never eaten his first wardrobe, this new journey would have never begun.

There comes a point, however when all journey's must end, and, of course, as much as either of them loathed to admit it, there came a time when old age had officially made itself known and the shop had to go.

Still dressed very much as a man from another time, Thomas sat behind the front desk, his hair grey and joints rickety, waiting for the right person to come in and claim the Journey that Thomas no longer needed, for he had had more than enough to last him a lifetime.


End file.
